That Syd Barrett saw his shot at superstardom dissipate into the darkening circles of his bruised brain is more than a little tragic. That we have a soundtrack to some of that dissolution, as both an artistic and human document, is more than a little miraculous.

If buying a Syd Barrett CD is our electronic equivalent of paying to watch the crazies, what sort of vicarious experience do we hope to get for our $12.99? Whatever we see in Syd probably reveals more about our own delusions than about his.